


Never Really Be Alone

by GotTheSilver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, Getting Together, Las Vegas, M/M, Thunderstorms, Wet Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cas isn’t just wet, he’s drenched, and Dean watches a drop of water run down the expanse of Cas’ neck.  The trenchcoat is soaked, Cas’ shoes make a squelching sound as he takes a few steps, and, if Dean looks closely, he can see the spots where Cas’ shirt is clinging to his skin.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Really Be Alone

There’s rain coming down outside the motel, too thick and dangerous to even try and risk driving it in, however much faith Dean has in his own driving abilities. The Motel 8 is in the shadow of the big strip hotels, and when Dean looks out of the tiny window, he can see lightning strikes reflected off the gold of Mandalay Bay looming large above them.

The case is over, a simple salt and burn of a local disgruntled gambler holding a grudge against a long destroyed casino, and Sam hadn’t put up much of a fight when Dean suggested sticking around for a few days. At the time Dean hadn’t expected the thunderstorm, but Sam’s scored a ticket to some show he wants to see, and if Dean doesn’t make it out of the room, he’s got his right hand and internet porn to keep him company.

The storm isn’t slowing down, and there’s a loud crack in the sky that has Dean backing away from the window, not entirely convinced by the steadiness of the glass in the window.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean stumbles, cursing at the fact that Cas can still startle him like this, before shaking his head. “What’s up, Cas? Why are you wet?”

“I was outside.”

Cas isn’t just wet, he’s drenched, and Dean watches a drop of water run down the expanse of Cas’ neck. The trenchcoat is soaked, Cas’ shoes make a squelching sound as he takes a few steps, and, if Dean looks closely, he can see the spots where Cas’ shirt is clinging to his skin. “Why?” he asks, finally finding his voice.

“Why what?”

“Why were you outside?”

“Oh.” Cas looks down at himself for a second before looking at Dean. “There were cats.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cats, at an abandoned motel near here. They needed feeding, and one was very sick.”

Dean rubs two fingers over his forehead. “You were with cats.”

“I just said that,” Cas says, moving his shoulders awkwardly. “This is very uncomfortable.”

“Well, yeah, Cas, you’re drenched.” Walking over to his duffle, Dean rummages around and tugs out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Here,” he says, turning around with the clothes in his arms. “Put these on.”

For a moment, it looks like Cas is going to protest, but then he nods in acquiescence and takes off his coat. Holding it in his hands, he looks around the room, and eventually places it on a chair in the corner. Dean sits on the edge of his bed, unable to take his eyes off Cas as he continues stripping down, his suit jacket next to go, seemingly unaware of the effect he’s having on Dean.

Cas turns around and sits on the chair, leaning down to take off his shoes. Instead of toeing them off like Dean would do, he unties the knot in the laces, long fingers working quickly. He goes for the socks next, making a face at the feel of the wet material in his hands, and then he’s sitting there, barefoot, shirt almost see through, pants drenched, and Dean’s finding it hard to breathe.

Tugging at the neck of his t-shirt, Dean tries to look away as Cas’ hands move to the buttons on his shirt but it’s hopeless. Cas has to know what he’s doing, must be able to chart the way that Dean’s heart is racing, his temperature rising, hell, all Cas has to do is look up and see what Dean wants written all over his face.

It can’t take that long for Cas to take his shirt off, but it goes in slow motion for Dean, he’s aware of every single motion Cas makes; the way he stands up and slides the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms; how his hands get caught in the ends of the sleeves before he manages to pull it off. The thunderstorm is still raging outside, rain battering the building, but all Dean can see is Cas.

There’s a distant rumble of thunder, and it’s at that noise that Cas looks up, locking eyes with Dean. “Can I have a towel?” Cas asks, his hair plastered to his scalp, a single drop of water running down his chest, sliding past his nipple. “Dean?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, yes, I’ll—” Dean makes a gesture with his hand, heat flooding his face as he walks into the bathroom. Before he grabs a towel, Dean splashes cold water on his face, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. This isn’t new, he’s always known that he and Cas have a unique relationship, but he’s never _wanted_ Cas so much. Quickly grabbing the towel, Dean steps back into the room just in time to see Cas pulling up the sweatpants over his bare ass. Closing his eyes for a second, Dean coughs, holding up the towel when Cas turns around.

“Thanks,” Cas says as he takes the towel, stepping so close that Dean can see his wet eyelashes clumping together. Cas frowns, trying to move the towel to dry his hair, but it ends up falling over his face; Dean reaches up and starts to roughly towel dry Cas’ hair. “I am capable, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says, voice slightly hoarse. “Let me.” It doesn’t take long, and when he’s done, he drops the towel onto the chair with the rest of Cas’ wet clothes. Cas is still shirtless, the old Sabbath t-shirt Dean gave him lying abandoned on the floor, and Dean can’t bring himself to ask why Cas hasn’t put it on.

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asks.

“At a show—one of the Cirque things.”

Cas’ eyes narrow, and the next thing Dean knows, Cas’ dry lips are pressed against his. It’s a rough kiss, without skill, but it’s everything Dean didn’t know he wanted; as he catches up with what’s happening, Dean cups Cas’ face in his hands, and slows the kiss down, opening his mouth and running his tongue over Cas’ plush bottom lip, dragging a noise out of Cas that makes the butterflies in Dean’s stomach do somersaults.

Dean’s lost in the kiss, and when Cas’ hands come and grab at his hips, he goes with it, sighing slightly when Cas’ fingers slip under his t-shirt. It feels like Dean’s been waiting forever for the feel of Cas’ hands on his skin, and he slides a hand around the back of Cas’ neck, playing with the wet hair, smiling when Cas shivers.

Pulling away to take a breath, Dean stares at Cas, not sure what to say but not wanting to break whatever this fragile moment is. Both of Cas’ hands are underneath Dean’s skin, and Dean takes a step back to strip it off, dropping it on the floor. Cas makes a broken noise and reaches for him, Dean goes willingly, and with practiced ease, Dean maneuvers them to the bed.

“You did it on purpose,” Dean says quietly, Cas underneath him, his hands running all over Dean’s bare skin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You could’ve dried your clothes. You didn’t.”

There’s the beginnings of a smirk on Cas’ face as he looks up at Dean, and Dean laughs, lowering his head and catching Cas’ mouth in a kiss. Lightning flashes illuminate the room as they move, and Dean’s whole world is narrowed down to this; Cas underneath him, pushing his hips up to meet Dean; the layers of fabric dragging against his hard dick; the noises Cas makes because he’s never had to learn to be quiet in this.

Reaching between them, Dean shoves both their sweatpants down, and then it’s skin on skin and Dean is losing his damn mind. Cas is chanting his name like it’s a prayer, and Dean’s sure that’s blasphemy, but he’s so far past caring. There’s a loud thunderclap, a shiver down Dean’s spine, Cas’ hands gripping his ass, and Dean’s coming, hips moving in abortive circles. Cas is pushing up against Dean desperately, not far off reaching orgasm, and Dean slides his hand between them, wrapping his hand around Cas’ dick. It only takes a few strokes and then Cas is coming, his fingers digging so hard into Dean’s side, Dean knows he’s going to be left with bruises.

Dean doesn’t roll off Cas, can’t bring himself to, and by the way Cas is holding him, Cas feels the same way. The rain is still thrashing outside, somewhere in the motel a door slams shut, and Dean’s not entirely sure when Sam’s coming back, but he’s sure they’ve got time.

“Dean?” Cas asks, interrupting Dean placing light kisses against Cas’ neck.

“Yeah?” Dean responds, lips dragging over Cas’ skin, tongue darting out to lick, enjoying the salt sweat taste in a way he never has before.

“Can I stay?”

Lifting his head, Dean meets Cas’ eyes and nods, his brow slightly furrowed. “You don’t need to ask.”

*

When Dean wakes up in the morning, there’s sunshine pouring through the window, Sam is asleep in the other bed, and Cas is still in Dean’s bed.

“You stayed,” Dean says before he can think, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I did.”

Dean draws Cas into a kiss and it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> The abandoned motel where feral cats live is real (or at least it was), it's the White Sands motel at the South End of of the strip.
> 
> [tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com).


End file.
